Heartfield Ranch (Communities of Discipline Book 2) (2 page)

“I didn’t raise my daughter to waste her life.”

Melissa Fales dabbed at the base of her overly made-up eyes, although they looked more angry than sad.

“We both wanted the best for Ann Marie, and..” Harlan Fales reached over to take his wife’s hand, but she jerked it away.

“Please, Harlan, let me handle this,” she said. “This young lady needs to realize what is at stake. Miss Patterson…”

“Officer Patterson,” Karen corrected.

She ignored the clarification. “Harlan and I are not your average citizens. We own one of the largest companies in this town, and we were major contributors to Sheriff Smith’s campaign.” She paused for effect. “
Major
contributors.”

“Melissa..” Her husband looked over at her, obviously embarrassed at his wife’s implication.

“Harlan, let me finish. Unlike our daughter, I’m not the least bit interested in being told what to do.” She directed her attention back to Karen. “As I was saying, there is much at stake here. Our daughter is sadly misguided, and I believe she needs professional help. Ever since she was young she insisted on playing house and spoke of getting married, even though I told her over and over she’d only find true happiness in independence. She often complained that our expectations were too high, and as head of the Women’s Career Coalition you can imagine that those sentiments were unacceptable coming from the mouth of my daughter. I don’t know if Ann Marie has Oppositional Defiance Order or if she has some sort of masochistic streak, but whatever it is she needs help. She knew what this group was like before she joined. She’d heard the rumors about how women there live like obedient little servants to those … brutish men. And yet she appears to have sought out their company. This is more than disturbing to someone of our reputation. Should the details of her entering Heartfield become public, it would be scandalous. That is why it is so important for you to determine how and why these people exploited my daughter’s weakness and brainwashed her into their mindset.”

Karen sighed, and finally dared ask the question she wondered if anyone else had put to them. “Is it possible she just wanted to live like that?”

Beside her, Sgt. Jarvis cleared his throat. Up until this point he’d been silent, letting the Fales – or letting Mrs. Fales – imply what he ethically could not. But with the two most powerful backers of his boss sitting there, he realized he had to speak up.

“As we told you earlier, Officer Patterson, we suspect that this group is targeting and holding women like Ann Marie,” Karen’s boss explained. “We also suspect them of possible other illegal activities. It’s vital that we uncover just what is going on…”

Especially since Sheriff Smith is up for re-election
, Karen thought to herself, not that it mattered. She was more than eager to do her part to expose this group, especially given her own feminist tendencies. Even if it wasn’t for the right reasons, it seemed like the right thing to do.

***

“You know how much is riding on this, right?” Jarvis asked after the meeting.

They were sitting in a diner in town enjoying burgers and fries. Karen looked wistfully down at her plate, wondering how long she’d be stuck at Heartfield. There, she’d probably have to subsist on a diet of tofu and organic carrots. She hated both.

“Of course I know how much is riding on it,” she said almost bitterly. “I just wish it weren’t so damn political, Sarge. I mean, what if this is just her choice?”

Jarvis looked at her over his burger. “Like I said, this case is important. Don’t make me regret putting you on it, Patterson.”

Karen changed the subject, not wanting to throw her role in the investigation into doubt. “Let’s go over everything again,” she said.

It was arranged that Karen check in every couple of days. Sgt. Jarvis gave her a cell phone with strict instructions that she find a private place to use it. Since residents of Heartfield seemed to keep busy, neither Karen nor her superiors foresaw a problem with her sneaking to somewhere quiet to call the station. A phone would also be hidden in a large oak that bordered the Heartfield property; Clemmons showed her on a map where it would be, in case hers became lost or broken.

But her superiors emphasized that if she felt that she or anyone there were in danger, it should be reported as soon as possible. And if Karen failed to check in for three days straight, they said, then they would come looking. She was also given a code word –
pomegranate
- to use in case she needed to call for help from say, a phone in town, without tipping off anyone around her.

Karen chose “Betty Linden” as an undercover name, and created a backstory that had her traveling from Michigan to start a new life post-job layoff as a factory worker. Having been raised on a farm, she already had the skills that would make her attractive as a potential member of the community. Karen was urged to observe and to keep an open mind, and to use her small iPhone to discreetly record video or take photos if she felt it necessary.

“Be careful,” Sgt. Jarvis said. “That’s an expensive phone.” Karen cynically noted that the same could not be said about the car she was given, a battered ’97 Ford Taurus that would be perfectly believable when it “broke down” up the road from the Heartfield compound.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Capt. Clemmons put the question to her later when they were going over the instructions for the umpteenth time.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I?” Karen smiled at him.

He shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I just worry about you.”

Karen would have been offended if the statement had come from anyone else, but Capt. Clemmons was almost like a father figure to many on the force and – just a few years away from retirement – too old to worry about political correctness.

“Well don’t,” she said. “This is just the kind of challenge I’ve been hoping for. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worrying about them hurting you,” he said, grinning to himself. “I’m worried they might turn you into some little hippie housewife. What if we go out there to find you planting sunflowers and walking two steps behind some chauvinist pig with dirt under his fingernails?”

Karen laughed at the image. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she said. “I didn’t become a cop because I believed in male dominance.” She winked. “One day when I’m sheriff in these parts I hope to inspire other female officers with the story of how I broke apart the most notorious band of gardeners in Suffolk County.”

Capt. Clemmons laughed, slapping his leg. “That’s my girl,” he said, then his face grew serious. “Really, though, Karen, be careful. It’s dangerous going into a place just based on speculation, and that’s really all we’ve got.”

“I know,” she agreed. “But if the situation for the women in Heartfield is anything like we think it is, if they really are encouraging their wives to be obedient and punishing them when they aren’t, then that’s just the sort of thing I’m eager to put an end to.”

“You think that’ll fix it?” Adam Blye slammed the engine of the International tractor down and rubbed his greasy hands on a nearby oil-stained towel.

“I hope so.” But Clay Sanders tone didn’t exactly resonate with optimism. “That’s the third time the engine’s give out. If it’s the alternator we’re looking at a pretty big repair bill.

“If it’s not one thing it’s another.” Adam laughed, shaking his head. If it’s not cantankerous equipment, it’s cantankerous women.

Clay grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, I heard about that. Sarah got into a bit of a dust up with Ann Marie, huh?”

“Apparently, although I know good and well she’s the one who started it. I dearly love Sarah, but she still struggles with the notion that she’s no longer the Belle of the Ball. I’ve told her a dozen times that what makes Heartfield work is all of us pulling together. There’s no place for cattiness here. Ann Marie’s sort of the whole package – cute, smart, a quick study. She’s kind of knocked Sarah off her pedestal. I’d heard that Sarah was being ugly to her, but didn’t have any proof of it until I happened on things yesterday. But it won’t happen again.”

“Did you switch her?” Clay took a sip of water from the cup next to him and handed it to Adam.

“Yep,” he said. “And beyond that, I told her if she didn’t straighten up I was going to take the matter to you. I love her, but if she keeps this up I think we might be needing to think about banishment.”

Clay was silent for a moment. “Are you sure, Adam? We’re talking about your wife here.”

“I know,” Adam replied heavily. “And don’t think I haven’t wrestled with this. But what makes Heartfield work is that this is all voluntary, regardless of what the townsfolk are saying. The men – and women – agree to the rules. They come here knowing we don’t do thinks like conventional society does them. Sarah knew it when she came here, but I think she had a romantic notion of what obedience to authority was all about. I don’t want to keep her locked into a struggle she can’t win.”

“How did she react when you told her?”

“She cried.” Adam shut his eyes at the memory, and Clay could tell that the situation was taking an emotional toll on his friend.  “Hard. In fact I think she cried harder over the idea of having to leave than she did over the switchin’. But its like I told her – I can only do so much. She’s going to have to take her own initiative to a degree. I’m more than willing to guide her, but at some point she’s going to have to do the right thing even when I’m not looking.”

Clay put a comforting hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’ll pray for you both,” he said. “But I know in the end if it has to come before the council, we’ll do what needs to be done. Banishment is a last resort, but if it has to be done, it has to be done.”

The men knew there were risks to banishment, too. A few of the men and women who had been voted out of the community had become angry and started the rumors that exaggerated life in Heartfield. For the most part, the residents ignored the whispers of townspeople, and hoped their service projects in the community would offset any negative perceptions people had.

“Well, let’s hope Sarah gets her head on straight before it comes to that,” Adam said, and then managed a smile. “Say, is this why you haven’t settled down yet? Too much trouble?”

Clay laughed. “No. Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to find a woman to share my life with. But so far, no one’s caught my eye.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Adam said. In addition to being one of the leaders of Hartfield, Clay Sanders was extremely handsome. Tan, fit and broad-shouldered, at 6’4” he towered over most of the other men. His presence alone was often enough to command the attention of his peers, although it was his judgment that garnered the most respect. At forty-four, Clay was reasonable, judicious and studied. He also was highly skeptical about the direction of society at large, something his fellow Heartlandians shared. The idea of forming a community where everyone could come together and live in a self-sufficient utopia was born around a table by a group of men and women who by default would go on to make Clay their de facto leader.

He’d poured himself into making Heartfield. What started as a barren patch of land was now an earth-friendly, sustainable community, transformed through the practice of permaculture and the utilization of solar energy.

The principles of returning to nature and the natural order extended to family through a sort of natural evolution. Clay and the other founders were nothing if not traditionalists, and loosely adhered to Christian practices although they embraced no formal doctrine. Protection and guidance of the weak and service to others formed the cornerstones of their belief. And in the homes, that natural order meant that leadership was respected, obedience rewarded and disobedience punished.

As tales of Heartfield’s success spread, so did the attention of curiosity seekers  - along with an influx of potential residents of Heartfield. But it became quickly apparent that the community couldn’t just take anyone. Clay and the others realized that the kind of people who would fit into Heartfield were unique. Liberal earth-hugging activists would often be quickly put off by the idea of a patriarchal structure, while small-minded, domineering men who sought to rule without question or overly submissive women who wanted their decisions made for them would be put off by the group’s belief that being submissive did not mean being denied a voice. Men and women alike were urged to take initiative, ask questions, and think for themselves.

Heartfield did not want chauvinistic men, female doormats or starry-eyed environmentalists. The leaders wanted practical people with a respect for the natural way of doing things.

There were enough of them now to build a decent community that supported itself through contracted labor, produce, food and crafts. But it was still a constant struggle, and it didn’t help when one of the community’s most reliable tractor’s insisted on breaking down right at planting time.

“It’s not going to start.” Adam had climbed up into the cab and was turning the key, his expression exasperated when he was only rewarded with a hum and a click, click, click.

“Well, that settles it, then,” said Clay. “It looks like I’m going into town to buy an alternator.”

***

Karen stood beside the battered Taurus with the borrowed Michigan plates and shielded her eyes against the midday sun coming through the trees. Twice, cars had slowed down. Karen assured the driver, a middle-aged man in a blue suit, she didn’t need any help and that her car was just a bit overheated, and gave similar assurances to an elderly couple whose two small dogs barked at her from the back seat.

Karen knew that Clay Sanders, one of the leaders of Heartfield, had been spotted in town and was on his way back from town. He was driving an older Chevy pickup, and she should do what she could to appeal for help when she spotted him. She knew there was no guaranteed that he would stop, so she hoped for the best.

The officers had made sure that the Taurus was obviously beyond repair, which they hoped would give Clay no option but to take Karen back to Heartfield. Once there, she was to try and make an appeal to stay.

Karen leaned against the car and looked down the road, toward the compound. She could just see the driveway, a nondescript road that you might miss if you didn’t know it was there. Above the gate hung a small, simple carved sign that said “Heartfield.” She wondered if she’d have a chance to get past that sign. What if this Clay Sanders was paranoid? What if he automatically sensed that she was a cop? Was she really up for this?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an engine and a short blast of a horn and she jumped a bit, stirred from her thoughts by the noise. Then her heart quickened in her chest.

“Speak of the devil,” she said under her breath as the truck pulled over. She looked toward the vehicle, shooting the driver her best damsel-in-distress expression.

“Car trouble?” A man was getting out of the truck - a nice-looking man. Tall, with thick black hair, he was wearing a dark shirt, blue jeans and work boots. When she looked up at him he shot her a friendly smile. Karen’s heart quickened again.

“Y-yes,” she stammered and turned to the car, running her hand through her hair before bringing them to rest on her slender hips. “I thought I’d just overheated but now I’m thinking it’s something more serious.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Sure. Thanks!” Karen stepped aside and let Clay look under the hood. After a few moments he shook his head.

“I don’t know how to tell you this…” he said.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me it’s going to cost more than fifty bucks,” she said, injecting as much distress into her voice as she could comfortably fake. “I’m out here trying to find work and that’s all I had left.”

Clay put the hood down and sighed. “Your engine’s blown,” he said gently, and when Karen looked away with a sad little ‘oh,’ he sighed.

“It is going to cost more than fifty bucks,” he added. “I think you’re going to need a new car.” He paused as he took in her distressed expression. “Look, I just came from town,” he said. “I don’t mind taking you back. Maybe you could call your folks, or some friends?”

Karen sighed miserably. “It wouldn’t do me any good. I don’t know anyone here.” She fixed him with a forlorn look. “Do you know of any place around here where I can stay cheap, or where I can work for board until I can get on my feet?”

Clay Sanders was silent for a moment, and regarded Karen where she stood by the car. In the back seat he could see several suitcases. He walked around the car, considering the situation, and glimpsed at the battered Michigan plates. One could never be too careful, but she seemed on the up-and-up. The woman was waif-like, standing there in her braids, blue jeans and tank top. Her arms and legs were well-toned, and she looked to be in good shape. The other residents of Heartfield would have to be consulted, but he was sure they would trust the judgment which told him it was wrong to leave this petite female standing alone by the side of the road.

“Have you ever heard of Heartfield?” he asked.

Karen shook her head. “Is it a town? It’s not on my map, at least not that I remember.”

“No,” said Clay. “It’s a private farming community just up the road. You probably passed the entrance on the way up. We’re closed to the public, but I don’t think the other members would have a problem with your coming in and staying till you can get on your feet.”

“You aren’t nudists are you?” Karen asked, stepping back. She knew just to jump at the chance without some measure of skepticism would raise suspicion. “I mean, is it safe?”

“It’s safe,” he said. “We’re agrarian back-to-the-land types. We grow our own food, keep bees, goats, sheep, cows, chickens. We even dabble in aquaculture. The women are very crafty – most all of them know how to sew and spin. It’s a nice place, very simple. And we all keep our clothes on.”

“It sounds like The Farm,” Karen said, dropping a bit of knowledge she’d gained from research. “You know, that place in Tennessee? I saw a documentary on it once, on PBS. I’m surprised places like that still exist.”

“We’re a little like that,” replied Clay, who had heard of the famous hippie commune from the seventies. “Only I’d say our lifestyle is a bit more traditional. Well, a lot more traditional. We’re pretty old-fashioned. And like I said, if you don’t like it, you can leave. Does that sound alright, Miss….”

Karen held her hand out. “Betty. Betty Linden.”

Clay shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Linden. I’m Clay Sanders. If you want to get your bags we’ll get you over to Heartfield so you can get settled in.”